


Loose Ends

by BoldlyGoingNowhereFast



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Bottom Bilbo, Dominant Thorin, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Canon, Resolved Sexual Tension, they're both a little desperate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-02-17
Packaged: 2018-03-13 09:08:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3375848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoldlyGoingNowhereFast/pseuds/BoldlyGoingNowhereFast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo and Thorin finally find time alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loose Ends

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, but this is shameless PWP. I suppose I had to do it at some point...

The doors to Thorin’s chambers had barely closed before they were kissing deeply and pulling at each other’s clothing in an attempt to get to skin. They had spent too much time skirting around one another, with lingering looks and long conversations where they tried not to reveal their secret. The sexual tension had peaked, and it had been Bilbo to finally put his foot down and tell Thorin how he felt. Apparently holding off as long as they did had led to this fevered desperation.

Bilbo allowed himself to be pushed down on the bed covered with lavish furs, allowed himself to be covered by the dwarf who pressed his knees apart and pried his mouth open with rough lips to allow the hot swipes of Thorin’s tongue between his teeth.

It was as if a swelling thundercloud had finally released the rain it had been holding, drenching everything that had been caught underneath. Bilbo had no other choice than to weather this storm, to make himself pliant and accept what Thorin dealt out.

He lifted his arms when Thorin yanked at his shirts, scrunching his nose when the collar caught on it as the fabric was pulled roughly off of his body. The hot mouth on his collarbone turned whatever complaint he was going to make into a moan that spurred the dwarf onward. Bilbo wanted this just as much as Thorin did, but he knew there was no way he could take any control in their coupling. He was much happier letting Thorin take the reins. The dwarf was an earthquake, a natural force of great power that couldn’t be resisted. Bilbo tugged at Thorin’s clothing with impatient hands, conveying his own need to get to Thorin’s skin. He grinned up at Thorin as the dwarf struggled out of his own shirts.

Thorin’s dark hair brushed over the hobbit’s shoulders as Thorin divested both of them of their remaining clothing, and it was only moments before there was skin on skin and they were both gasping at the feel of the unrestricted heat of each other’s bodies. Thorin fisted a hand in Bilbo’s curls as he kissed the hobbit senseless, nipping at Bilbo’s lips and grinding down and making them both moan at the wonderful friction. The deep rumble of Thorin’s voice Bilbo felt to his very bones.

“Bilbo, I must take you. I need you,” Thorin rasped into Bilbo’s ear, warm breath tingling against the pointed tip. Bilbo couldn’t help the way his hips bucked at the thought of Thorin buried deep inside of him.

“Yes,” he responded breathily. “Yes, Thorin, _please_.”

Thorin wasted no time, leaning over the edge of the bed to rifle in the pockets of his discarded coat for the small bottle he had stashed there hours before, predicting this turn of events. He grabbed Bilbo’s feet and hoisted them onto his shoulders, uncapping the bottle and pouring the liquid on his fingers. Bilbo splayed his legs and bit his lip to keep from shivering wildly in anticipation.

The press of a finger had Bilbo gasping and closing his eyes. Though Thorin was trying to exercise restraint, Bilbo could tell by his panting breaths that his patience was thin, brittle enough to break at the smallest provocation. The press of his finger became more insistent, and soon it became two, stretching Bilbo quickly and making him squirm against the onslaught. When Bilbo met Thorin’s gaze, he was nearly startled by the heat he saw there, all of it focused on him as Thorin attended to the preparation of his body. Bilbo held that gaze; he wanted Thorin to know he wanted this just as much as the dwarf did.

As soon as Thorin deemed him ready, his fingers were gone and he was shoving a pillow underneath Bilbo’s hips to put him at the correct angle for what they were about to do.  His legs were pulled farther over Thorin’s shoulders until his heels were pressed against Thorin’s back and his body was completely open for Thorin to take his fill.

Quickly coating himself in the oil, Thorin wasted no time in pressing forward, pushing into Bilbo smoothly, just gently enough that Bilbo only experienced a few moments of discomfort that had his fingers tightening on Thorin’s upper arms. As soon as the pressure seemed to let up enough for Bilbo’s grip to relax, Thorin started moving, at first in slow, deep thrusts that had Bilbo’s toes curling. The muscles on Thorin’s arms stood out sharply on either side of Bilbo’s head as he held himself over the hobbit.

The pace did not stay that slow, and soon Bilbo’s voice caught on a keen as Thorin picked up the pace, gripping Bilbo’s hips in a way that would surely leave bruising as he thrust into Bilbo’s pliant body. Bilbo would be reminded for days after what had happened between them, every time he sat down. Thorin’s hair curtained them from the rest of the room, making it feel as though they were in their own world together, and nothing else existed but the connection of their bodies and the nearly painful pleasure of friction which seemed to go on for an eternity of heated skin and the stretch and burn of Thorin inside of him.

Suddenly Thorin changed his angle of attack, and Bilbo was seeing stars behind his now-closed eyelids.

“You are mine,” Thorin grunted. “My hobbit.”

Bilbo tossed his head back, exposing his throat to Thorin’s mouth and teeth which seemed intent on marking him. “Yours,” he gasped. He was beginning to feel a building pressure at the base of his spine, warning him of an impending climax. He splayed his legs wider, his heels slipping from Thorin’s shoulders and his feet going flat on the mattress on either side of Thorin’s knees.

Right as Bilbo felt he was going to climax, without warning, Thorin was pulling out of him, and the protest Bilbo gave died on his lips as he was swiftly flipped over by the hands Thorin had on his hips. His face was pressed into the pillows, his hips in the air as Thorin pushed back into him from behind.

Now, his cried were muffled against fabric as he was taken hard, Thorin’s hands working to help pull Bilbo back into each punishing thrust of his hips. Bilbo didn’t last much longer this way, and when he finally climaxed it was with a cry of Thorin’s name against the pillow and sparks dancing behind his eyelids. It was only Thorin’s grip on his hips that kept him from collapsing against the bed.

Thorin followed not long after, his pace becoming frantic and erratic until he was bending over Bilbo and wrapping his arms around the hobbit’s waist as he came, groaning Bilbo’s name against the skin at the base of Bilbo’s neck.

Thorin pulled out with a hiss from both of them, falling to the bed beside Bilbo and gathering the hobbit to his chest so that Bilbo was wrapped in strong arms, his back against the furnace that was his dwarf. He could feel Thorin’s nose in his curls and his breath against the shell of his ear.

“You are wonderful,” Thorin murmured. “That was wonderful.”

Bilbo couldn’t help the somewhat shocked giggle that passed his lips now that the intensity had settled. “It was. Oh, but Thorin, when I’m so sore I can’t sit down for days, I am complaining to you. You’re going to supply the cushions for my poor sore bum.”

Thorin kissed the back of Bilbo’s neck. “I am sorry if I was too rough. You didn’t seem to be complaining during any of it, if I remember correctly.”

Bilbo squirmed in Thorin’s tight grasp. “I was a bit incoherent.”

It seemed Thorin wasn’t going to let either of them up for washing, and he was feeling rather boneless anyway, so he found himself drifting off to sleep in Thorin’s arms amongst the soft fabrics of Thorin’s bed. Judging by the deep puffs of air against the back of Bilbo’s neck, the dwarf had also fallen asleep.

Much later, when the sun was rising, spilling warm light across the bed and turning Thorin’s locks into a chocolate brown and his eyes into the blues of a springtime creek, Bilbo didn’t put up much complaint when large hands pushed his thighs apart for a second time.

Bilbo found the slow rolling of Thorin’s hips could be just as torturous and brilliant as the rough lay from the night before. Thorin treated him reverently, cupping the side of his face and holding warm eye contact as he unraveled Bilbo at the seams, catching Bilbo’s cries against his warm lips.

Their muffled gasps and cries, to Bilbo, were even more wonderful than the birdcall that one could hear on a lonely morning in Bag End, and it was then he decided a mountain could be the home for certain, very strange hobbits who fell in love with stubborn dwarves.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, hope you enjoyed that. I sure did :)


End file.
